


Chains of Iron and Gold

by ConstantlyTiredReader



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (In The Past/Implied), Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Angst, Child Neglect, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Imprisonment, M/M, Mapleblossom - Freeform, Multi, Papyrus/Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Princes in the Tower, SpicyBBQ - Freeform, SpicyMaple - Freeform, Swapfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Papyrus/Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Swapfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), mentioned minor character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-01-31 02:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21438685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyTiredReader/pseuds/ConstantlyTiredReader
Summary: Soon after Swapfell conquers the Kingdom of Tale, princes Sans and Papyrus disappear, never to be seen again. The question of their fate is a mystery which spreads through the land.Prince Slim, the younger brother to Swapfell's king, lives a lonely life in the palace. One day, he decides to explore the dark towers of his home. There, he finds someone unexpected. Perhaps, he can be the friend Slim so desperately needs.
Relationships: Papyrus/Papyrus (Undertale)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 35





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me... just casually writing something based on the interests of 10 year old me over here...

Throughout the land, whispers of a sordid affair pass from village to village, spreading with the steadiness of water transforming to ice on a cold winter’s day.

It all began, of course, with the Kingdom of Tale. Basking in a long age of peace and prosperity, life was good for the citizens of the kingdom. True, they were not as strong as their neighbours to the north and the south-east, nor were they as wealthy as their western neighbour. Still, the people were happy and secure, a blessing which is often more advantageous than mere riches and power.

Unfortunately, as is often the case, things were not able to stay so good for the Tale kingdom forever.

Soon, darkness ran through the land, ready to infect its inhabitants. This darkness took the form of the invading armies of Swapfell, a nation renowned for its iron-fisted warrior of a monarch and its fierce military prowess.

Try as they might, the Kingdom of Tale stood no chance.

The King of Swapfell defeated the Tale ruler in battle, easily slaughtering their feeble army. That day, the dust was said to be thick in the air in each and every corner of the kingdom. So thick, in fact, that farmers on the other side of the nation’s borders were supposedly choked by the haze, forcing them to leave their crops for the day. 

But for every speck of dust spilled, the tears shed by the survivors were tenfold. 

The sorrow in the land was unlike any other. No longer could the Kingdom of Tale be described as a place of peace and prosperity. Children were orphaned. Husbands and wives were widowed. Their monarch was gone, and along with the end of his reign came the end of life as they had known it.

From the point of view of the victors, Swapfell’s siege of Tale was a tactical success, something to be celebrated in the archives of its history. Their king soon gained control, adding the territory to his own through the rights of conquest. After all, who was there to oppose him? With the King of Tale dead, all that remained were his two heirs, who were but children, not yet out of stripes. They had no power to interfere with his plans.

The heirs to the throne of Tale are what interest the rumourmongers the most. More precisely, the mystery of the fate of the king’s two sons.

This is where the story begins to lose its threads, unravelling into a tangled mess of speculation.

The one thing that can be agreed upon regarding the princes is that the last time they were publicly seen, they were being taken to the main residency of the King of Swapfell. Reportedly, the two of them were escorted by some of the most prestigious members of the Swapfell Guard, golden chains cuffed around their wrists and ankles to prevent any attempts of escaping. At least one eye witness, however, disputes this, claiming it to be a trick of the sun. The chains, he said, were no different than any other, the heavy iron a symbol of the fact that the princes were no longer of any importance under the new regime.

In any case, the metal forming the bonds makes little difference. Whether of gold or of iron or of something else entirely, the young princes were brought to the castle as prisoners. They have never been seen nor heard of since that fateful day.

Because of the lack of royal statements regarding the pair, people can only guess as to what has happened to them. Theories are numerous, but the most common are as follows.

Most say that the young princes were killed, eliminating any chances of what would be seen by the King of Swapfell as a usurpation to his throne. The eldest, as many are keen to remind captive listeners, would be the rightful King of Tale. By executing them, Swapfell’s king would solidify his claim to the throne.

Some, however, disagree with this theory, and for multiple reasons.

Those who are more politically minded argue that killing the princes would be pointless if it were not done publicly. The citizens of Tale, now under the rule of Swapfell, could revolt and try to reestablish their kingdom. But, if there are hundreds of witnesses who can confirm the executions of the only legitimate heirs to the Tale throne, what would be the point?

Furthermore, why would the King of Swapfell not announce their deaths, if he had killed them? In a situation such as this, showcasing the dust of the young princes would at least prove to the people that any remains of the Tale monarchy exist no more. At the very least, he could claim that the children had Fallen after their capture, the grief of losing their father being too much for their young souls to bear. In this way, there would at least be proof of the princes’ dust, even if no one dared to verify any claims made by the king.

Others disagree with the execution theory out of pure optimism. Surely, say those hopeful few, the King of Swapfell could not be as cruel as to murder two children in cold blood. 

Perhaps they have remained prisoners, which — although still not a pleasant outcome — is a more positive spin on the story than them simply being killed. The hope remains that one day, they might be able to become free.

Or, maybe the young princes have been stripped of their rank, forced into servitude. Possibly, even to work for the king’s own two sons. After all, it would parallel quite nicely with the fate of the rest of the kingdom, creating a cruel rapport between royalty and commoners. 

Others yet say that the princes were sent into exile, far away to the human kingdom beyond the sea. Yes, it would be just as dangerous for them there, given that they are monsters. However, by leaving Swapfell, they might at least have a chance at a normal life.

No one has the heart to tell these hopeful individuals that Swapfell’s king would view the young princes only as political opponents, not as children. Sparing them for sentimental reasons would be quite the uncharacteristic thing for him to do.

Many years pass. 

Razz, the former Crown Prince of Swapfell, steps up as king after his father’s untimely death. Once more, rumours circulate. This time, they are that the late king’s eldest son had poisoned him to gain the throne. These rumours are shared with hushed voices in only the most secret of places; regicide may be a severe crime, but no one dares accuse the new monarch without concrete evidence. 

That would be treason.

The truth, of course, is far less sensational. Years of combat combined with a too high LV ravaged at the former king’s health, leading to a natural death. Nothing thrilling there.

Along with the times, the whisperings about the mystery of the princes of Tale fade away, becoming little more than a legend. Curiosity remains as to what the truth of the matter was, but no progress is made in finding out.

The only consensus that there is in this strange story is that, regardless of what truly happened, neither Crown Prince Sans nor Prince Papyrus deserved their fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, this is as exposition-dumpy as it's going to get. 
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time.


	2. The Lonely Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slim decides to go and explore the palace.

"— your highness?"

A sharp kick to his left tibia under the table jolts Slim to attention, just in time to hear Advisor What’s-his-name address him. What for, he has no idea. Helplessly, he turns to his brother.

Narrowing his eyes warningly at him, Razz thankfully takes mercy on him. No one protests when the king answers the question instead of the prince.

This time, Slim forces himself to listen. Not that it does any good. Even when he manages to focus in on these dumb, tedious meetings he is always required to attend, it isn’t like he can really provide any useful insights. 

One day, his brother will have to face the facts: Slim has no potential to lead Swapfell’s armies. Even if his health was not so delicate, he simply has no talent for leading. As Father used to say, he would only be good for political arrangements. Slim knows that his father had meant marriage by that. Hell, the servants in the scullery probably even know that much. It isn’t as though Father was quiet about the fact that he thought his youngest was useless for anything other than being a pawn to create alliances. When he had an opinion, Father rarely kept it hidden.

Despite this, Razz still tries to involve Slim in all of his advisory meetings, like he actually believes that Slim might be able to become a master tactician from repeated exposure to other people’s planning. The show of confidence is appreciated, however futile it might be.

For what must be the hundredth time this meeting alone, Razz directs a glare at Slim's right hand. Whoops. For what must be the hundredth time this meeting alone, Slim lowers his head apologetically and forced his fingers to quit tapping against the table. He knows his brother hates that habit. Irritating, is what Razz thinks of it, as well as rude; he says it shows his inattention in the least patient of ways. Slim does get the rude part — Father used to do the same thing to signal whoever was speaking to hurry up lest they face the consequences — but he disagrees with the inattentive part. As far as he has noticed, he will tap his fingers on the table whether he is spacing out or whether he is listening with all of his ability. 

Still, he decides to move his hands to his lap. At least he can tap his fingers on his legs without Razz noticing. Most of the time.

Finally, without any more major developments, Razz wraps things up. Thank the stars. His advisors, having been dismissed, file out of the room in a precise line. Militaristic, of course, but part of Slim can never unsee them as a procession of baby birds, not since that one meeting where he had been sitting with the window in his direct line of sight. Even now, as they walk past him and his brother, Slim has to hold back a grin. The mental image of King Razz the Great and Malevolent’s most important general following the little birdie in front of them is too amusing.

According to custom, Slim waits until everyone else is fully out of earshot to turn to his brother. It is during these brief moments together that he gets to see glimpses of Razz instead of King Razz. Today, however, he is denied such an occasion. Posture stiff, he collects his papers before rising from the table. Yes, he could leave that for a servant to do, but that will never happen. Trust no one, after all. 

Without looking up from his task, Razz barks, “Do you want something?” Slim, apparently, takes a second too long to respond. "Unless it's important, leave me. I will see you at supper."

Wilting at the curt dismissal, Slim murmurs, "yes, sir." Something is clearly bugging Razz, which means Slim has no choice but to go; nothing good will come from him staying around, even if he wants to help out. If anything, it will just agitate his brother more.

Razz’s irate grumblings echo behind him, punctuated by a “And close the damn door!” The resulting slam resounds in Slim’s mind, accompanying him down the cold corridors.

On the plus side, the free time he has for the rest of the day manages to be enough to overshadow that slight moment of hurt. That certainly is the advantage of early morning meetings. Running his hands along the threadbare tapestries — all of which that are desperately in need in replacing based on appearance and the temperature of the room — Slim allows himself a short sigh of relief. He has no more responsibilities, no lessons to stress him out. His time is all his own, something rare for anyone.

Now, he just has to find a way to put that time to use.

That… is easier said than done. 

Needless to say, it doesn’t take very long before Slim gives up and, feeling bored out of his mind, goes wandering again. Despite having lived in the palace for the vast majority of his life — and the fact that most of his free time these days is spent messing around — chances are that he might find yet another surprise. Centuries old, the palace is a true fortress, complete with countless secret passages. Knowing his kingdom’s history, Slim assumes it was built that way for security purposes, no doubt. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that being able to conceal guards in plain sight would serve as a tactical asset should the palace come under attack. These days, though, the only people who take advantage of the passages these days are the servants who travel through them as shortcuts.

Well, and Slim. Slim uses them a lot.

Holding back a shiver, he starts his way up the stairs up to the towers. Really, he should have taken the time to stop in his room for a second cloak. Even as he draws his hood up, tucking his face into the soft fur lining, Slim considers turning back. It isn’t like he doesn’t have the time or anything. If he wanted, he could do the trip seven times and still have time to explore before supper. He just really doesn’t want to; he may be bored, but he’s not _that _bored.

A pair of guards nod at Slim, any emotions hidden under their heavy armour. As always, they watch, but never stop him, thank the stars. For the past few years, the towers have been his haven. Quiet and peaceful, they are one of the few places he can go where being alone doesn’t feel as isolating.

These days, isolation is something he experiences too often.

It didn’t use to be that way. 

Unlike the rest of the palace, there are no draperies lining the stone walls of the towers, no richly patterned rugs on the floor. Any hint of colour disappears past the first door, replaced with dark grey stone. It could easily become bleak, walking through the shadows. Yet, Slim has always found something interesting about it. The natural divots, bumps, and cracks within the stones create pictures of sorts. He has spent too many hours in the past few years sitting and staring at those walls, trying to spot new images.

It’s not like he can do anything better with his time. Razz is too busy these days. He has been for years now. Ever since… Well, it doesn’t matter, anyways. The point is, Slim gets along just fine entertaining himself. It’s fine. Most of the time. Even if he really misses being able to spend time one on one with his brother, without kingly responsibilities getting in the way.

Wordlessly, Slim grabs a torch from the wall behind the guards. He draws it close to his body, allowing him to remain huddled within the warmth of his cloak. Neither of the guards protest. Whether it is because they don’t feel like countering their prince or whether they simply don’t care about the loss of light, Slim doesn’t know. Either way, they still have other light sources in the area, so he swallows down (most of) his guilt. Moving forward, he will need something to guide his path. Sure, he could always summon a bone construct to serve as his light, but, since he doesn’t know how long he will be up in the towers, this is easier.

Walking alone high, higher, yet higher up, Slim allows himself to zone out. It prevents him from dwelling upon how the silence makes everything — from the crackling of his torch to the steady tempo of his footsteps — near deafening in comparison. Step after step, he continues, until he has no real idea of how far he has gone. One floor, five floors, who knows? Certainly not him.

Eventually, he reaches the perfect stopping point, where the spiraling staircase is broken by another full level. Slim, not caring about the griminess of the floor, slumps down to rest against the wall. The golden, flickery glow of the flame highlights just how grungy things are up here. Clearly, this isn’t a place where Razz spends any time; if it was, he would have a meltdown over how the servants have “slacked at their duties”.

“have i even been up here?” Slim wonders to himself, stretching out his torch-bearing arm. It doesn’t help that the towers tend to look alike. Nothing about this room screams anything special. 

Actually, that isn’t exactly accurate.

Lowering his torch, he can just barely make out a series of footprints leading to a door on the other side of the room. They don’t belong to him; the sizes don’t match.

Well, Slim _was _hoping to see something new. This seems as good a chance for an adventure as any. And if not… well, Razz is always getting after him for lazing about without the decency to have exerted himself beforehand, claiming such softness is unbecoming of a prince of Swapfell. At least today, Slim can say he got in a decent amount of exercise.

Bones creaking, Slim makes his way to his feet. All right, maybe trying to rest against a stone wall wasn’t the best decision, if his spine is to be believed. Regardless, he continues forward, intrigued by the door across from him.

Slim grunts as he pushes the heavy door open, leaning the entirety of his weight into it — not that that is much. Surprisingly, there is no screech of rarely used hinges. It opens near soundlessly. That, however, doesn’t stop him from instinctively turning around to make sure no one is there to hear. Which, in retrospect, is ridiculous. Even if there was, why should he be concerned? This is his home. Slim has every right to be up here.

Stepping into the new hallway, Slim knows for a fact that something strange is going on. 

First off, there are tapestries, fully covering the walls. He has never seen such a thing in the towers. And — he confirms, trailing a bare phalange against the carefully stitched battle scene — they are fairly new. Thick, able to insulate the walls.

Another thing of note is the presence of wall torches… and lit ones at that. Usually, at the lower levels, torches are left unlit — hence why Slim had to grab one of his own. It would be a waste, after all, since no one ventures up here. The thin rays of sunlight streaming through the barred windows are considered as being good enough for the rare servant who is sent to clean.

It's official. Slim has never been in this part of the palace before.

Like a moth, he follows the path of the light. Deep in his soul, he knows he needs to. He needs to see what is so important to warrant such mysterious considerations as wall hangings and lights. In his focus, he nearly neglects to consider the narrow corridor veering off to his left. 

In fact, if it weren’t for a bright voice calling out, Slim wouldn’t have even noticed it.

“Hello there?” it calls, a waiver of uncertainty in the tone. “Is it supper time already?”

Slim hastens towards the voice. He knows for a fact that the servants’ quarters aren’t in this particular tower; it is too far removed from the rest of the palace to be practical. Plus, why would a servant be confused as to the meal schedule? It isn’t as though it changes. But if it isn’t a servant… who else would be up here? And why?

“Hello,” the voice repeats, a tinge more desperately, “is anyone there? Or is this an overly vivid figment of my admittedly fantastic imagination? Because I would really prefer that first option, if I am allowed any say in the matter.” 

Despite himself, Slim snorts softly, amused by the other’s spoken thought process. Before he can respond, however, he spots another door. Perfect.

Without hesitation, he opens it up and —

What on earth?

"Wowie," the other monster — a _skeleton_ monster, dressed in the colours of the former Kingdom of Tale — says. "You sure don't look like any of the guards I've met!" Then, ignoring Slim's gaping expression, he continues, "Now where are my manners? I should introduce myself. I'm Prince Papyrus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


	3. A Prince in the Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slim, upon wandering to one of his favourite places in the castle, encounters a special prisoner, much to his surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a quick note, I've added a tag for past child neglect. Although many of Slim's base needs (such as food, clothes, a place to live, an education...) were met, there was certainly neglect in emotional/social/supervision needs. Plus, there's the fact Papyrus (and likely Sans) have been left in the tower for several years...
> 
> I just felt the need to warn everyone (especially since I had forgotten to add that one when I initially posted the fic), just to be on the safe side. 
> 
> With that being said, here we go!

Slim’s eyes go wide and he stumbles a few steps backward.

Is this real? Surely, he cannot be so lonely that he is imagining… this!

Prince Papyrus — if he really is who he claims to be, although who else would it be? — only smiles back at him. Separated by a mesh of iron bars, which is the only thing visibly differentiating the room from a normal bedchamber, he stands a few inches taller than Slim. This only accentuates how short the hems on his garments fall, leaving the bones of his forearms and ankles exposed. The ill-fitting nature of his clothes is only one of many signs that the skeleton likely doesn't have much else. Dull and ragged, the cut appears to be fairly old-fashioned. Slim can't pretend to know anything about fashion, but if he had to guess, that particular style went out of fashion… about ten years ago.

About the same time the real Prince Papyrus and his brother disappeared.

Slim doesn't remember much from when his father overthrew the Kingdom of Tale. He was just a kid, after all, not even out of stripes. Mostly, he remembers the celebrations afterward, the feasting and joustings and even a special display of fireworks. Explosions had lit up the night sky, victorious reds, violets, and golds as far as the eye could see. That night, Father had placed one battle-scarred hand on his shoulder, his other on Razz's. "This," he had signed with magic bullets, each word stern and bold, "is your destiny." Then, to Razz specifically, "I expect great things from you." 

Even after his caretaker had ushered him off to bed, Slim had snuck over to the window in his room, climbing up and curling onto the ledge with his blanket and pillow, marveling at all those pretty colours until sleep had claimed him for the night.

It wasn't until weeks later that Slim had even heard of the conquered king having two children of his own. His tutor, frustrated with his lack of attention but unable to punish someone who easily outranked him, had sent him to sit alone in the hall. By this point, Slim was used to it. A gaggle of servants was also in the hall, cleaning. They must not have noticed Slim: otherwise, they most likely would have censored their whisperings if they had.

“Did you hear about the _other _princes?” the tallest among them asked in a hush.

"You mean the ones from Tale?" Another, a Woshua, dropped their mop into a bucket of sudsy water, which splashed loudly against the floor. They were a lot less careful with their tone, scoffing loudly. "Who hasn't?"

"I'm just asking. I still can’t believe that they’re here in the palace!”

The shortest of the group, a tawny mouse who was still in stripes, piped up, “My mother said —”

“Bah,” a stone elemental scoffed, interrupting. Polishing the frame on one of the many portraits of Father, he shot the youth with an unamused glance. “Minnie says a great deal of things, son, and nary one of them holds an ounce of truth. I’d sooner believe that grass was made of silver and gold than I would anything your mother has said about those two princes.”

From there, Slim’s memories of the gossip are a bit vaguer. He remembers his tutor coming back to drag him into the classroom, just as exasperated as before he was sent out. That, of course, made the servants clam up fast; the miserable old man wasn't exactly subtle.

That same night, Father had actually joined Slim and Razz for supper. Preparations were being made for his brother’s de-striping ceremony — even though it would be at least a full year before he would be old enough to go through it — and the former king never did enjoy wasting time. 

At the far end of the enormous dining table, Slim picked uninterestedly at his food. Besides being ignored, that was always his least favourite part about eating with Father. Everything was too mushy with weird flavours that Slim didn’t think should have been edible. But edible it was; they had the proof from Father’s food taster. Still disgusting, though.

Suddenly, a deep violet, nearly black hand construct waved right in front of his face, snapping at him. “Pay attention,” Father signed before Slim had even raised his head completely. A scowl covered his scarred face, an all too familiar expression. “I asked you a question.”

“sorry,” Slim mumbled. Clearing his throat, he repeated it a proper volume before he could earn another scolding. It was better not to add more reasons for Father to be displeased with him.

That might be why Razz stepped in. Father’s favourite, he was always good at smoothing things over between them. Sending a quick smile Slim’s way, he placed his hands on the table in a posture mirroring Father’s. “I’m sure my brother agrees that we should consult General River for the parade, sir. Slim has just been… deep in thought today.”

Yes, ‘deep in thought’. That would be one way to put it. Certainly kinder than the ‘rudely inattentive’ and ‘carelessly and unsuitably distracted’ adults typically used to describe him.

“Really,” Father signed, raising his brow bones in a mocking curiosity. “What could be so important that my own son would ignore his father the king?”

Slim cringed in his seat. Why is it that out of all the times for Father to pay attention to him, it had to be now? He looked down at his greenish-brown mush, avoiding eye contact. “i’ve been wondering something.” A touch late, he tacked on, “sir.”

Father didn’t seem to notice. “What is it?”

Well, if Slim was ever going to ask, this would be it. “earlier today, i heard the servants speaking… they said something about the princes from the fallen kingdom?” Across the table, Razz perked up, pausing in cutting his meat. “about there being two of them here? is it true?”

“It is none of your business,” Father answered, his signs firm and forbidding any argument. “Now, Razz, as I was saying…”

Dismissed, Slim got back to poking at his food. 

After a few days of idle curiosity, he had forgotten all about the mystery of the other princes. Talk about them had quieted down inside the palace, all gossip going to discuss his brother’s upcoming de-striping ceremony — the newest event of a lifetime. No one seemed interested in discussing the Tale princes, and especially not with him.

Now that he thinks about it, Slim doesn’t recall ever seeing the bunch of servants from whom he had learned about the princes after that point.

Most of what he knows about the former Kingdom of Tale actually came from after Razz had ascended to the throne. Together, they studied their ancestors' reigns; Razz was eager to learn from the past and improve upon it. Slim honestly could have cared less. It was better, though, than some of the other things Razz and Father had him study over the years. During that time, they had also looked at Tale’s history to know where they had gone wrong. Nothing he read ever mentioned what happened after the siege; as far as the books are concerned, the kingdom’s history ended the moment Swapfell’s soldiers had marched in.

In the few illustrations Slim saw of the last king of Tale, he wore robes remarkably similar to what this Papyrus is wearing: dark blue with orange trim, tight around the waist and looser at the chest with padding at the shoulders. The garments were brighter in hue than these, perhaps, but other than that, it checks out.

Truly, all of this seems to check out.

It is Prince Papyrus.

Who is still standing there, probably waiting for him to respond. Oh stars.

Pushing back the hood of his cloak to expose his skull, Slim says, “hi. i’m slim. uh, prince slim.” 

Prince Papyrus barely blinks at his stumbled attempt at an introduction. Slim appreciates it. Smiling wildly — though entirely proper — he muses, “That would explain why you don’t look like a guard.” He tilts his head to the side. “What are you doing up here? From my experience, they don’t usually allow prisoner-princes to walk around, which is really unfortunate. It can get rather tiring, staying in the same room all the time.”

Spotting an empty torch holder, Slim sets his inside. He is more than a little sure that he will be up here for some time; this is probably the most interesting thing that has happened to him in the past year. “just... wandering. i’m, uh, not a prisoner.”

“Oh, that’s nice!” Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound condescending or sarcastic. Unless Slim is mistaken, Prince Papyrus genuinely thinks that. It’s strange. Nice, though. He continues, “I don't really get any visitors. Unless you include the guards, of course, but they don't really like talking…"

“i’d like to talk to you,” Slim blurts out. Feeling his face heat, he ducks his head, pulling his hood back up. “um, if you don’t mind.”

“I’d like that.”

Slim nods. “good. me too.” Unsure of what to say from here, he shifts awkwardly on his feet.

Oh stars, this was a bad idea. What was he thinking? It doesn’t require a scholar to know that when one initiates a conversation, there is an expectation to be able to continue it! He’s probably worse company than the guards at this point.

Finally, the other prince takes mercy on him. “Would you like to sit down? I’d offer a chair, but —” he gestures loosely to the columns of iron separating them, “— these pesky bars really make it hard to be a good host. And the lack of chairs to offer.” 

“thank you.” Slim looks down at the ground and tries to sweep a clean spot with his feet. Depending on how long he stays up in the towers, it would be best to keep his robes as clean as possible; he might not get a chance to change before supper with Razz. It doesn’t work that well, but at least he can say he put in the effort.

“You’re welcome! And while we’re at it, would you like to dispense with all these silly formalities?”

“please,” Slim agrees without a moment’s hesitation. His soul lightens in relief; that removes so much pressure from him to say and do everything ‘correctly’. 

“Excellent! I don’t know about you, but I’ve always hated the ridiculous etiquette, especially now that I’m here. Why is it more polite to take twenty eternities to say one sentence and still not get to say what you mean? It’s honestly exhausting.” Prince Papyrus — or rather, just Papyrus if they are going to be informal — grins conspiratorially. “Besides, who is there to hear us?”

Slim smiles back, carefully arranging the folds of his cloak to shield his knees from the cold of the stone floor. Meanwhile, Papyrus grabs the coverlet from his small cot of a couch-bed. He drapes the plainly woven wool over his shoulders as he settles down across from him with his legs crossed.

“so…” Slim starts, picking at the hemline of his robe. “living in the tower. how’s that?” The question barely leaves his mouth before he is internally berating himself for it. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why not remind the poor monster that he is a prisoner? What a _ great _idea. Next, how about if he —

“I get to see a lot of birds.”

Slim pauses his mental self-flagellation, blinking in bewilderment. “birds?”

“Mostly eagles,” he says thoughtfully. “Sometimes, I like to scream back at them. I’m awfully good at it, too.” Perking up, he asks, “Do you want me to demonstrate?”

After a startled laugh, Slim shakes his head goodnaturedly. “i’m good.”

Papyrus shrugs, the edge of his blanket whispering against the floor. “Your loss. Luckily for you, that offer will remain on the table, even outside of designated meal times, so if you ever change your mind…”

“got it.” Still feeling rather mirthful, Slim lets a playful tone enter his voice. “besides screaming at birds, how else do you spend your days?”

“Well, I exercise a lot.” Slim nods; that makes sense, taking in the other skeleton’s physique. Despite having spent nearly a decade in the tower, his bones appear to be strong and healthy, perhaps moreso than Slim’s. “It’s not as fun as when I got to run around the gardens, but at least I don’t have to worry about wrecking the gardeners’ hard work. I’d practice sparring, but that would be the teensiest bit of a challenge, considering the lack of opponents.” He gestures across his relatively empty room. “Unless… maybe you would be willing?”

Slim forces back a grimace. “no, sorry. sparring isn’t exactly my thing.”

“Just as well. The guards never really liked it when I used too much magic.”

Snorting, Slim says, “guess they wouldn’t, huh.”

“Indeed,” Papyrus agrees, ever so seriously. Yet, there is a faint twinkling in his eye lights. Slim comes to the decision that he likes that mildly mischievous expression.

Over the course of their conversation, he learns a lot about the imprisoned prince. For example, he prefers their new chef’s food as it is far less greasy. Daybreak is his favourite time of day; the rising sun paints his walls in the most lovely colours and he can hear birds sing — from actual songbirds, not only eagles screeching. At night, he stares at the moon and tries to find images in its various shadows, just like Slim does with stone walls.

On the whole, Papyrus strikes him as being unusually chipper for a prisoner. Especially for one who, based on the kingdom’s rules and his identity, really only has two opportunities for the future: die in prison, or be executed as an enemy to the throne.

Then again, Slim is one of the first new people he has seen in years. He would be excited too, in his shoes. Or, rather, lack of shoes; Papyrus apparently outgrew his last pair a few years back.

Eventually, the topic veers to a question Slim has been wondering since he stumbled inside.

“what happened? during the siege?” 

Papyrus, who had gotten up to walk around — he isn’t used to sitting still during the daytime and was getting restless — freezes midstep. Slowly, he sinks back down to the ground.

“sorry,” Slim mutters. “shouldn’t’ve brought that up. forget that i asked.”

Drawing his blanket into his hands, Papyrus’ voice is soft when he says, “It was all really rather confusing, the siege. At first, I didn’t know what was happening; everyone tried to keep it away from me and Sans until it was too late.” A pause, the blanket rustling as he twists it between his fingers. “Breakfast was extra special, with all my favourite things. It was like it was my birthday or Gyftmas, except everybody was sad and there were absolutely no presents, which made it extra sad because presents are amazing.

“Then, halfway through an arithmetic lesson, Dad came in? Normally, I would have been glad to have him interrupt, but he was really scared. He gave us a hug and told our tutor to hide us in the palace.” A small pout covers his face. “We weren’t allowed to do anything fun because they were scared we would make ourselves discovered.”

Slim nods in understanding. On the rare occasions he was brought to the military tents as a youth, he was expected to sit still and be entirely quiet the entire time. It was so dull, and he wasn’t even in hiding.

“Then,” he continues, recrossing his legs, “all these soldiers burst through the castle, but none of them were our soldiers. Their armour was shedding dust all over the floor.” His face scrunches up in disgust from the memory.

Enthralled, Slim asks, “then what happened?”

Papyrus looks down solemnly at his lap. “We were told that Dad was dead and we had a new king. Except, they didn’t mean my brother.”

“they meant my father,” Slim nods.

Eye sockets widening, he exclaims, “Oh, you’re his son! Well, as I was saying, they brought us here. We were allowed to pack a bit before we left, so Sans had me grab some of Dad’s clothes. As a reminder.” Briefly, Papyrus’ eye lights dim. At least, Slim believes they do; it would be hardly noticeable if he wasn’t sitting so close. “It turns out it was a good thing, because I simply wouldn’t stop growing; they have been very useful over the years.

“Anyways, the guards brought us to this kingdom and we were sent straight up to the tower. The first day, Sans and I were together. But the next day, he was taken away.” For the first time throughout the entire conversation, Papyrus shows a true hint of sorrow. Not simply seriousness, but genuine heartbreak over what happened to him. 

“To be honest, Slim, I’m not even sure if my brother is still alive.”

Oh stars.

Swallowing, Slim draws his cloak closer around him, taking comfort in the ticklishly warm fur lining. He cannot _imagine_. Clearing his throat, he asks, “you’ve been here ever since?”

“That is very correct!” With the mild change in subject, his very posture straightens up, returning to the princely image he had been maintaining up to this point. “I know this room like the back of my hand. Which is very well, I might add, since I don’t really have anything else to look at.”

“how do you even manage?” Slim can barely handle being cooped up in the palace as a whole, let alone a single room with absolutely no company. Surely, exercise and screaming aren’t enough to fill up ten years of loneliness.

“With lots and lots of practice! Several years, to be precise. I am a veritable expert at this point.” Jumping to his feet in a single move, he adds, “It’s not too bad. Usually. It certainly gives me plenty of time to do all the thinking a person could ever need to do in a lifetime! Oh! There is also this one nice guard — whose name I sadly am unaware of despite him having brought me food for years, so I cannot properly thank him — and he gives me some charcoal every once in a while. It is rather messy, but I can use it to decorate.”

There, he gestures to a significant portion of a side wall. Slim rises to his feet, walking back so he can get a better view through the bars. This section is bare of any tapestries, leaving the medium grey stone bricks on prominent display. Yet, even if it is lacking in cloth coverings, Slim would be unable to call the wall plain. 

Papyrus has clearly put those gifts of charcoal to good use over the years. The wall is heavily covered in layers of darker grey illustrations, varying in skill and subject matter. Near the bottom, many of the drawings are of a more simplistic nature: inelegant stick figures and small doodles. The higher Slim looks, the more he can take in Papyrus’ growth, likely both physical and in artistic ability. Here, the charcoal drawings become more complex. His lines are more sure and steady, layered with hatching to add more depth. Mostly landscapes cover these sections, some appearing to be reproductions of the embroidered scenes covering the other walls.

One drawing in the corner stands out in particular. A portrait of a skeleton, to be precise. Unlike many of the other art pieces, this one is soft and hazy around the edges, as though being seen from a distance. Or, perhaps more precisely, as seen from a distant memory of years past. Squinting at it, realisation dawns in Slim: it is a portrait of Papyrus’ late father.

Suddenly, he takes in the position of the sun through Papyrus’ window. Combine that with how his legs are still half asleep from having sat for so long, it must nearly be suppertime. “papyrus?”

“Yes?”

“i... i have to go. my brother is expecting me.”

“Oh,” Papyrus says quietly. “Of course. It would be very improper to leave him waiting, after all.”

Dusting off his clothes, Slim asks, “would it be all right if i came up here again?”

Papyrus’ eyes widen, his pale eye lights sparkling. “Oh, would you? I would really enjoy that a great deal!” A pretty flush forms on his rounded cheekbones, and he coughs, looking to the side. “If you want, of course. But it has been very nice meeting you and I really would like it if I could have your company again because I haven’t had someone to talk to in such a long time and —”

“of course i’ll come,” he reassures him, cracking a smile. “i promise.” Why would he deny himself the chance to keep visiting his chipper new friend? 

His only real friend, if he were to be painfully honest with himself.

Grinning widely, Papyrus clasps his hands together. “And I promise to be right here at all times, ready for whenever you choose to visit!”

“i’d like that. until we meet again.” 

“Until we meet again,” he echoes.

With that, Slim resigns himself to returning back down to the main part of the palace. Grabbing his torch from the wall, he gives Papyrus one last smile. Stars, he wishes he could stay longer. As soon as he reaches the door, he pauses, turning on his heel. “stay determined, papyrus.”

Waving, the other skeleton smiles back. “And you as well.”

No longer able to delay the inevitable, Slim closes the door behind him. The resounding slam is loud in the otherwise quiet tower, swirling dust up from the floor. As he rushes down the stairs, Slim mentally runs through his schedule for the next week.

He cannot wait to see Papyrus once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](https://constantly-tired-reader.tumblr.com/) and [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/ConstantlyTiredReader)! Feel free to visit at any time for updates, to talk or to find out some of my random, mostly sleep-deprived thoughts.


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